Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust
by The Art of Suicide
Summary: "For thou art dust, and unto dust shalt thou return." AU/Movieverse. Part III/III
1. Prologue

_A/N:_ This is the third and final installment of my trilogy. I took a hiatus to sort out all of my ideas, and now that I have a pretty clear image of how I want this story to end, I'm ready to put it down in words for all you lovely people. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding.

 _WARNING:_ _This story will contain drug and alcohol abuse, sexual content, mentions of rape, mentions of severe child abuse, graphic depictions of torture, excessive use of expletives, racial slurs, homophobia, and disrespectful attitudes toward Christianity. I sincerely apologize to those of you who may be offended, but you have been warned._

 _ **Prologue**_

* * *

"Uhh…"

The girl behind the counter tapped her foot impatiently. It was busy today. Busier than usual, which was to say a lot considering the boost in tourism that Autumn Woods had seen over the past year. The barista didn't know nor care what happened to Josh Peters and the Missing Boys, the reason for the flood of business. All she cared about was moving the line along.

"Are you going to order or not?!"

The harsh clip in her voice snapped the man in front of her out of his thoughts. His head whipped around to face hers so quickly and stopped in place so suddenly, steely gray eyes piercing through the thick rim of his perfectly round glasses, that the soft hairs on her neck stood straight.

"Yes, actually." His voice was unassumingly gentle, and she strained to hear it over the bustle of the café. "I'd like a decaf soy latte with a caramel drizzle." Raising an eyebrow at the lanky, shabbily dressed man's order, she shrugged and grabbed his cup anyway. "Name?"

"Henry. Henry Lewis."

* * *

Oh, there was something here alright. Something dark and cold and nasty. Henry felt it curl up and settle in his gut as soon as he crossed the county line. His heart sped up and so did the car as he was eager to get to his motel and begin investigating. He'd been dying to get to Autumn Woods ever since he first saw the picture of Josh Peters, milky-eyed and white haired after having been dead for only _two minutes._ It was the most malicious supernatural act he'd ever seen, and he'd seen the corpse of a freshly drained vampire victim; with its wrinkled flesh sagging against the bone, all color drained from its skin and hair.

That's the culprit he'd pegged for this crime at first, vampires, until he'd dug deeper, learned more. Vampires didn't tend to drink from the sick or the weak unless they wanted to be mocked by their brethren. Vampires would also have no reason to inflict that kind of damage on the poor boy. They were simple- sullen, ravenous- yet simple creatures who attacked for sustenance and sustenance alone. Rarely does a vampire lose control and drain its victim completely. With the help of a hacker friend, Henry had been able to get a hold of Josh's medical records. The boy had gone through Hell. Blindness, fever, horrible stabbing pains throughout his body, third-degree burns, and boils that quickly became infected despite the hospital staff's effort; to name a few symptoms.

Vampires didn't use voodoo dolls.

The way Henry saw it, there were one of two solutions to this paranormal query; A) an incredibly resourceful enemy of Josh's managed to get their hands on the necessary items to craft a voodoo doll, or B) Witches.

Witches were rare. Incredibly rare. Harder to find than vampires, than ghosts, than Bigfoot. They lived in small covens of three to five women and usually kept to themselves. The power of the coven depended upon the cumulative power of each individual witch. All the strong magical bloodlines had been hunted out, and their languages died along with them. The few that remained interbred with humans. "Witches" and "Wizards" born today had so little magical blood in their veins that they could scarcely pull off a card trick. There were few, though, that held on to their dead languages and taught their children the ways of the craft in secret. A small, small few.

The other disappearances? Henry didn't have a clue. After first seeing the picture and hearing the news, he'd waited, expecting the bodies to eventually show up. None did. Not even a hair.

' _Must be buried deep.'_

Henry thought, sipping his latte and watching the blondes who just came in and were waiting for their drinks. He'd noticed them outside the window as soon as they'd stepped around the corner across the street. Today was his third day in Autumn Woods, and so far, he'd received precious little information. The only answer he'd gotten to any of his many questions was who was closest to Josh Peters prior to his death; his ex-fiancée, Claire Brewster. A quick Facebook search showed him her face. Henry was good with faces. The Brewster girl was allegedly an heiress, and now that he thought about it, Henry noticed several businesses boasting the name "Brewster" on his way through the state. Her name, along with the names of three other girls, popped up quite a lot during his talks with the locals. It seemed they were quite popular, though public opinion was quite varied.

Some said they were angels, that they could do no wrong- idiots, Henry decided, blinded by their beauty. And, oh, were they beautiful; young nubile bodies, large wicked eyes, and shiny lustrous hair. Even through the dim screen of his dying laptop, from just the photos they posted on their social media sites, he could tell that they crackled with magic. They must have bewitched everyone in their path.

A handful of Autumn Woods citizens had less than kind things to say about the girls, particularly the grieving families of the missing boys. He learned that Winona Jackson and Amanda Black in the months following the disappearances inexplicably quit their jobs as exotic dancers and moved into Claire Brewster's mansion, along with their longtime friend Lydia Deetz. Prior to this, the girls had been dire enemies. It was all very suspicious.

No one had anything nice to say about Lydia Deetz. Granted, they didn't say anything bad about her either. They seemed to fear her more than anything, which Henry found ridiculous considering her diminutive stature and small frame. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall, maybe one hundred pounds. He would have chalked up their fear to small town prejudice- he hadn't seen a single Goth since leaving DC- had it not been for the mention of her _husband_. Every time Lydia's name came up, somebody had something to say about the handsome, yet intimidating, older man that acted as her shadow. Talk about town was that they'd been married for years, and yet he couldn't find a single picture of the guy on her Facebook. Which wasn't so surprising, it seemed she mostly used the site for professional reasons. The only candid photos were ones she was tagged in. No, what really got to Henry, is that nobody seemed to know his name. He was nobody, a whisper, the only impression he'd left on the town the initial "B." The guy was a ghost.

" _So_ …?"

Claire and Mandy slid into a booth, unaware of the steel eyes watching them just feet away.

"How did it go?"

Mandy crumpled up her straw paper and flicked it in Claire's direction, who did the same in return. "Good… I think…" Mandy sighed, slumping over the table. "I mean, I didn't mess up. There were some great dancers there, some from France and Russia. Do you know how they train ballerinas out there? It's pretty much a lifelong thing. I can't compete with that. I only have eight years of experience." Mandy was fresh back from New York. She was there auditioning for the NYCB, the New York City Ballet, one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the world.

"I don't know why you didn't take B up on his offer to like…" The heiress' eyes narrowed playfully. "Give you the upper hand." Behind her, unseen, Henry's grip tightened around his plastic cup.

"Because I want to get in on merit, not because I have…" Mandy hesitated, considering their crowded surroundings, "connections. And Lydia's with Adam and Barb babysitting Calli all weekend while her parents are in Cancun. She's really been looking forward to that. I wasn't gonna take that away from her so B could help me cheat."

"Ordinarily, I'd turn down babysitting, especially, like, if my parents already had two built-in babysitters, but that is one freakin' cute baby." Neither of them could blame Lydia for wasting her weekend away on the infant.

"Yeah, but anyway, I should be receiving a letter in 2-4 weeks. If I'm accepted, the season starts in June, and I'll need to move there for rehearsals in April." Mandy let out a breath, biting her lip. "It was terrifying dancing next to all those little French girls."

"Like, yeah, whatever. I bet they were scared to be dancing next to _you_. You're built like a gazelle, you probably jetéd circles around those bitches."

Mandy offered Claire a fleeting smirk, both at the praise and at the girl's use of ballet terminology. "I _can_ leap pretty damn far." She surrendered, sipping her vanilla bean blend.

Claire grinned, "That's more like it! There's no way you- oh!"

Claire, broke off, reaching into her jean pocket for her vibrating cell. It was lit up with a photo of an undeniably gorgeous girl with a mass of curly brown hair that fell to her waist. Several strands were now a lighter, honeyed blonde shade and gleamed under the sunlight. In the picture, she was smiling brilliantly down to someone from a balcony.

"Nona!" The heiress answered, pleased to be hearing from her friend.

Mandy instantly perked up at the mention of the girl's name. "Nona?! Is she okay? Ask about Rome! Tell her she's a slut for not calling me first!"

For the past six months, Nona had been away in Italy, studying architecture abroad. She wasn't scheduled to return for another month. They still saw each other, courtesy of Lydia's husband's magic, but it wasn't the everyday affair that they'd become accustomed to. Still, she needed the time away. Her close call with death reminded her that she wasn't Lydia. She wasn't immortal, and there was still too much of life that she wanted to experience. She couldn't sit around and wait for a married, straight white woman forever. Nona was alive, and it was time to live.

" _Buongiorno, bitch_!" Her rich voice sang through, twinkling with happiness. " _You must get everyone together and come back soon! I've discovered this delicious little gelato shop, you'd absolutely love it, darling."_ Claire could hear the chattering of voices in the background, and the joke in Nona's voice. She loved to tease Claire with fattening foods.

"Ugh. Mandy says you're a slut for not calling her first, and now I agree with her. How many poor European girls have fallen victim to your raspy English charms, now?"

There was laughter on the other end. _"I'm not keeping count, love. I met the most delightfully bendy Danish girl the other day, though. Oh, Claire, if you could have seen the things this girl could do with her tongue-"_

"Eeek! Stop!" Claire's face was burning. In many ways, homosexuality was still a very foreign and confusing topic to her. While she didn't have a problem with Nona's escapades, any mention of it flustered her. And Nona knew it.

" _If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a virgin. Really, we must sit down and watch some lesbian porn one day, just get it out of your system."_

A scowl broke through Claire's reddened cheeks. "Did you call for a reason?"

"Tell her to call me next!" Mandy, who had been contentedly sipping her drink, piped up.

" _Just to check in on you, my sheltered little rich girl, and to tell you that I miss you-"_ Nona's voice caught and she spoke again abruptly, _"All of you. It's been too long since your last visit, so come see me. And tell that flat-titted twat I'll call her later, I want to hear all about her audition. Ciao!"_

"Ciao." Claire bid farewell, tucking the phone back into her pocket.

Henry sat quietly behind them the whole time, his latte long gone. They were witches. No doubt about it. He'd never actually _met_ a witch, just heard about them, but there was no way he could be mistaken in this. They were just too… too… _something_! The air around them hummed with warmth, even with the October draft that occasionally came gushing through as new customers entered. All attention was centered on them, even if it was subdued. He saw it in sideways glances and longing gazes from afar. They were holed up in a corner, nearly every inch of their skin covered to shield them from the cold, completely held up in their private conversation, and _still,_ all anyone in the room wanted was their attention.

The tall, unassuming, lanky man with thick round glasses stood, unnoticed, from his stool and tossed his empty drink before stepping out into the cold. Lost in thought and fiddling, he accidentally pricked his finger on the necklace of vampire fangs around his neck. The metallic taste of blood sharpened his focus and hurried his steps toward the cheap motel that served as his temporary residence.

There was more investigation to be done yet.


	2. I

_A/N:_ You know what I haven't written in a while? A lemon! Enjoy! I think y'all have earned it. Calliope's name is pronounced "kuh-lie-uh-pee." Thank you so much **BeetlejuiceLvr03** , **Caz Ezemay** , **Honey the Queen Bee** , **Ironically Irrelevant** , and the guest who left that extremely flattering long review. It's crazy, because I reread this story all the time, and I can really see the improvement in my writing. I had no idea what I was going to write when I started the first chapter of A Haunting in Connecticut. I am way too proud of this piece of work to let it die. My new chapters may be few and far between, but rest assured, this story _will_ be finished.

 _ **I**_

* * *

" _Betelgeuse."_

The enormous striped serpent currently coiled around the chimney atop the Deetz residence chuckled down at his wife who stood in the driveway with arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. Adam and Barbara Maitland, who were still under semi-permanent house arrest, could do naught but stare on in horror from the porch. Calliope Quinn Deetz, most recent addition to the Deetz-Maitland family, squealed madly in delight. The 10-month old's onesie was pierced through one of the serpent's vicious elongated fangs. She hung from his mouth, clapping her hands together and laughing.

"You can play snakes and ladders later. It's time for dinner, bring her down." Snakes and Ladders, as Lydia liked to call it, was Calliope's favorite game. Betelgeuse would take on his snake form, grab up the infant, climb to the highest point he possibly could, and try his damnedest to give his father-in-law a heart attack.

He released her, still coiled atop the chimney, and the Maitlands screamed, throwing their arms out to catch her. Lydia rolled her eyes and held her arms out, knowing better. Instead of falling to a tragic death, Calli floated down gently to her sister's arms, giggling the whole way. Lydia smiled brightly and kissed the top of her fire-engine red head. "Yeah, that was lots of fun, wasn't it?"

"Buh-guh!" She shouted in response, reaching chubby fingers back toward the roof. Lydia passed the child off to Barbara so that the panicking ghost could check her for injuries.

"You know she's fine. Let it go." Lydia remarked as she passed by them on her way inside. Betelgeuse was already in the kitchen, back to normal and taste-testing Barbara's marinara. "Do you have to antagonize them every time we come to visit?" She swatted his hand away from the pot, knowing how Barbara would react if she saw.

"They make it so _easy_ , babe. Can't help myself. S'like takin' candy from a baby." He was digging into one of Calli's fruit gummy snacks while he said this.

Lydia sent him a sultry look over her shoulder as she began setting the table. "If you can play nice until Calli goes down for bed, maybe we can take a walk through the cemetery later tonight."

Betelgeuse paused mid chew, eyes darkening. With the birth of Calliope, Lydia's old bedroom had been converted from an art studio into a nursery. They opted out of painting the walls pink or purple, as is the norm, and left them as they were; splattered and multi-colored. Delia thought it would help "inspire her natural creativity." The child was going to live an unusual life. It only seemed natural that she should have an unusual bedroom.

While this was all well and good for the child, it meant that when Lydia and Betelgeuse came to visit, they were forced to sleep on the pullout couch in Charles' study, much to Daddy-in-Law's displeasure. Betelgeuse was no fan of the arrangement, either. The study was smack dab between the baby's room and his in-laws'. Getting down and dirty with Lydia just wasn't going to happen there, no matter how badly he wanted to bend her over her daddy's desk and make her scream.

He was behind her in an instant, hands on her hips, fingers crawling up the hem of her shirt. She shuddered involuntarily when his lips played at the skin below her ear. "Oh, I'll be _nice._ I'll be real nice. I'll wash dishes n' everythin'. You still wearin' that lil red thing?" Watching his wife dress in the morning had been torture the past few days.

She slipped out of his arms with finesse at the sound of the storm door opening and Barbara cooing to Calli. The look in her eyes was just as dark as his. Seems he wasn't the only one missing out. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

* * *

" _One fish,_

 _Two fish,_

 _Red fish,_

 _Blue fish."_

Lydia didn't bother pausing to show Calli the pictures as she read on. There was no point. Betelgeuse's magic really was beautiful when it wasn't dark and terrifying. The fish swam from the pages of the book to spin through the air in circles around the enchanted infant. The illusions nipped at her cheeks and tickled her ribs.

" _Black fish,_

 _Blue fish,_

 _Old fish,_

 _New fish."_

Four new fish joined red and blue. By the time Lydia was about done with the book, Calliope's room was for all intents and purposes a water-free aquarium. She read slowly to allow time for the fish to do tricks. They were acrobats, swimming through the air in erratic, intricate patterns and bouncing off the walls. As Lydia reached the last couple pages, the lights in Calli's room dimmed of their own accord and all the fish slowed at once. They fell in line, floating along at a snail's pace in a circle above Calli's crib. Her big blue eyes watched on, hypnotized, before slowly, slowly, _slowly_ closing for the night. Lydia smiled, her heart melting.

" _Today is gone._

 _Today was fun._

 _Tomorrow is another one."_

With that, the fish shimmered out of existence. Adam and Barbara watched the entire spectacle from the doorway, unable to stop themselves. Barbara couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the sight. She had no trouble entertaining Calliope with the few parlor tricks she knew, mostly levitation and possession of inanimate objects. However, there was no denying that the no good rotten poltergeist was the child's favorite person in the world. It wasn't fair. A part of her would never be able to trust him, not fully. But Lydia and Calliope were her _babies._ This… this thing made her babies happy. Who was she to fight that?

"Thank you." She conceded with a sad smile to the poltergeist as he and Lydia stepped out of the room. She immediately regretted it when he grinned smarmily and waggled his brows at her.

"Aw, you warmin' up to me, Babs? Look, I'm flattered, really, but it would never work. Don't get me wrong, ya got a great ass and those legs go on for fuckin' days. But I'm married. You're married. S'too complicated for me, ya know- GAH!"

Lydia was dragging him down the stairs by his ear. "Shut up before I change my mind about that walk. We'll be back later, don't wait up!" She called back to a red-faced Barbara and facepalming Adam before practically jogging out the door, Betelgeuse hot on her heels.

His wife threw him an annoyed sideways glance as they walked the dirt path through the woods that led to the Winter River Cemetery, her arms crossed. "You know, flirting with Barbara is a really shitty way to get me to fuck you." There was a bite in her tone that suggested this wasn't just their usual banter.

He didn't pick up on it. "Hey! _She's_ the one who's got the hots for _me!_ I was very clearly rejectin' her advances."

"Whatever." Lydia walked on ahead of him, glaring at the ground with stiff shoulders.

What the fuck? Betelgeuse sped up to meet her pace. "Hey, what gives?"

"Nothing." She did not pause her stride or lift her gaze. He stared at the back of her head, puzzled, until it clicked.

He appeared in front of her in an instant, making her walk right into him. She would have fallen backward if he hadn't caught her around the waist. "Babe…" He began, the side of his mouth curling like he'd just been told a dirty secret. "Are you _jealous?_ "

Her cheeks turned a shade of red he hadn't seen on her in a while and she glared past his shoulder, refusing to look him in the eye. "No."

Well, that was just fucking adorable. "You are!" She huffed and shook him from her, turning so her back was to him, arms still stubbornly crossed. "Baby, cmon, you know this stiff only gets stiff for you." She snorted and muttered something so low he couldn't hear it. "What?"

"And Barbara. And Mandy. And Claire. And Nona. Fuck, you can barely string together a sentence when Delia's breastfeeding. She wears a coverup! You will never see her tits!" Lydia was talking more to herself now than him. "Hmph… _great ass… legs for days…"_

"Lyds. Baby. That's nothin'. That's just talk. I don't mean it, I just say shit."

She turned and faced him now, a fire in her eyes. "You would lose your mind if I started hitting on guys the way you hit on women." The mere idea of it made his jaw clench with fury. "Maybe I will. Maybe the next cute guy I see I'll just walk right up to him and say 'Hey, stud. Nice dick.'" If he wasn't enraged by the suggestion, he would have laughed outright at her. Lydia was not adept at flirting.

He growled and got up in her face, backing her into a tree. "Don't you fuckin' dare."

She stood her ground. "Don't you fucking make me." There was tense silence as they stood on the path, toe to toe, nose to nose. "Are we gonna go to this cemetery and fuck or are we gonna stand here and talk about our feelings all night?"

She was _mocking_ him. "Fuck the cemetery." He had her turned back around before she knew what was happening, her front pressed against the tree trunk while he expertly unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled down her jeans. She was, in fact, still wearing the little red thing. A string and two itty bitty triangles made up her scrap of a thong. She cried out at the first stinging slap to her backside. "Take it back."

"Fuck you." She bit out, gritting her teeth against the pain of the second strike.

"We're gettin' there. First, I gotta mouthy little girl on my hands that needs ta learn a lesson." He paused after the third slap to smooth his hands over her lily-white globes. His fingers drifted under the damp material of her panties and he nearly groaned at the moisture he found there. She was practically dripping for him. Two of his fingers plunged inside of her without warning. His other hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back so that he could hiss in her ear. "This tight little pussy right here?" His fingers curled inside of her, rubbing at her sweet spot, and her body spasmed against him. "This is mine." The sight of her exposed, thin throat was too tempting and he latched his mouth there. Her breathing sped up as his teeth scraped against her sensitive flesh and she started riding his fingers with vigor, irresistible little noises crawling up her throat and out her mouth.

He had driven her over the edge enough times now that he knew the signs. Her eyes clenched shut, all her muscles went rigid, her mouth was open in a silent scream. He stopped. She about started crying. "Take it back."

"Please!" She thrust herself back onto his fingers, but it was too late. He was already removing them. "I take it back! I won't flirt with anybody! Please don't sto-" She was cut off by the force of him slamming into her and the orgasm that ripped through her. The little red thing was no more, in pieces on the dirt path.

He was brutal, pulling her back to meet him with each thrust, drawing out her climax for all it was worth. Once her screams calmed down to gasps, he bent with her so that her was back flush against him and slowed. His hands slid up her front and under her shirt to grasp each of her breasts and massage them gently. She moaned low at the sensation, bowing her head down while he kissed her neck tenderly. "You think I wanna do this with anybody else?" He breathed against her, keeping up his slow, punishing rhythm.

"You keep hitting on girls." She whined, her voice thick with pleasure.

"Yeah, I like girls." She squirmed in his arms and his grip around her tightened. "I _love_ you."

"Then stop hitting on other girls!" She insisted, even as she ground him further into her. He groaned, exasperated and close to coming. It was his turn to object when she pulled away from him completely and turned to face him. The objection died when she pulled her top off, kicked her jeans away, and dropped to her knees before him in the dirt path, completely nude. She stroked him slowly and licked his head once, torturously, before lifting her evil eyes up to his. "You like it when I do this?"

"Uh-huh…" He gulped, speech failing him.

"And you like that I _only_ wanna do this for you?" She took him into her mouth fully and he groaned, answer enough for her question. She sucked him like a popsicle on a hot day, one of her hands oh-so-gently caressing his sack while her mouth burned and pulsated. He had both hands in in her hair and was thrusting shallowly with her, biting his lip. He was so _close…_

And then she stopped. "I can play that game, too." The fire in her eyes from before was back. It was impressive that she could manage so intimidating an expression whilst kneeling butt ass naked in the dirt with a cock in her hand. " _Stop hitting on other girls_."

He about tackled her to the ground. "DEAL!" And then he was inside of her. "You evil," he grunted, slamming himself as deep as he could go, "communist," One of his hands was grasping her breast so tightly it almost hurt and he paused to lick her nipple roughly, "WITCH!" And then he was coming, face buried in her hair, body shuddering against hers. She stroked his back soothingly until he was still above her, using her chest as a pillow. There was a victorious smirk on her lips that rivaled his. "That was a dirty, dirty trick, babe."

"What can I say?" She leaned up on her elbows and drew him into a deep, burning kiss. "I learned from the best."


End file.
